Advanced Hand-Holding
by arliddian
Summary: This thing between them has always been unspoken, evolving and expressed through their entwined fingers. Abed/Annie one-shot.


**Advanced Hand-Holding**

* * *

**Summary: **This thing between them has always been unspoken, evolving and expressed through their entwined fingers. Abed/Annie one-shot.  
**Author's Note:** Story spans the whole series and into speculative season 4. Abed/Annie moments in the show are always small and subtle, so I tried to write something that reflected that aspect of their relationship.  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own it; don't sue me.

* * *

The first time she holds his hand, it's sort of by accident.

It's during Abed's horror movie marathon, a week before Halloween. The whole study group, minus Shirley ("I'm not watching those devil movies!"), is gathered in his dorm room. Abed is seated between Annie and Troy on the couch, and they're watching _Carrie_.

He can sense Annie growing increasingly tense as they watch the movie, the tormenting of Carrie probably bringing up her own bad memories of high school. She keeps fidgeting and making tiny sounds of distress.

The moment the pig's blood falls, she lets out a squeak and grabs Abed's hand. He stiffens and glances from their joined hands to her face, but she's intent on the screen and doesn't notice.

Abed knows from years of sitcom-watching that the girl is supposed to grab the hand of her romantic interest during a horror movie. By all rights it should be Troy's hand she's gripping, not his. She's confusing the roles and missing out on an opportunity to develop her own romantic sub-plot.

But it's Abed's own fault for not anticipating this and letting her take the middle seat when she had asked at the beginning of the marathon (he suddenly realises that maybe _that_ was why she had asked in the first place, not because she wanted to steal the best viewing position – yet another social cue he'd missed). And she's obviously distressed, so making her let go is probably not appropriate social protocol.

So he lets her hold his hand and squeeze it at every violent scene. And when she finally lets go at the end of the movie, he notes with detached curiosity that his hand feels a little cold without hers wrapped around it.

* * *

The second time she holds his hand, it's out of unnecessary sympathy.

The group is eating lunch in the cafeteria and he's squeezed in between Annie and Britta. Pierce is telling a joke, and they're all wrinkling noses and cringing slightly in anticipation of the punch line.

"...and then he says, 'You said you wanted a pe-"

"How are the film classes going, Abed?" Britta interrupts loudly, pointedly turning to look at Abed.

"Hey!" Pierce is indignant. "I was just getting to the good part."

"Pierce, nothing you could possibly have said would ever come under the definition of 'good'," Jeff returns, complete with air quotes. "Let's just move on."

"The classes are going okay, I guess," Abed answers Britta's question with a shrug. "We had to critique each other's films yesterday. The one assigned to me looked like someone had just switched on an unfocused webcam and let it run. The girl who made it got mad at me when I said that. She told me I was a hypercritical robot and threw her pen at me."

"Awww, Abed!" Annie and Shirley exclaim sympathetically.

Britta rubs his shoulder and Annie reaches over and covers his hand with hers. He twitches slightly at the contact, but stills as Annie's thumb moves over his skin in a soothing manner.

"Abed, you are not a robot," Annie tells him firmly, earnestly, and the other girls make sounds of agreement.

"Yeah! Because if you were a robot, your skin would be all metal and you could eat rocket fuel," Troy adds. His eyes suddenly light up. "That would be _awesome_!"

"I know," Abed says calmly. "I was just being honest about what I thought of her movie. She was too sensitive." Abed tilts his head and pauses. His gaze is drawn just for a second to where his and Annie's hands rest on the table. Then he looks up and says, "She'll never make it in Hollywood."

The conversation moves on and Britta pulls away, but Annie waits a few seconds before removing her hand. He knows it's because she wants to give him a little extra reassurance. It's an unnecessary gesture, because he's fine and he doesn't need comforting.

But he likes it all the same. He feels the warmth of her friendship in the pressure of her fingers. It lingers even longer than her touch.

* * *

After the next five times she holds his hand, he accepts that it's become a habit.

The girls in the study group are the kind of people who show affection through touch. They frequently touch his shoulder, hold onto his arm, give him the occasional hug. It is almost always an unconscious contact, a fluid and natural reminder of friendship that he knows they're barely aware of. They all do it, all three of them - Shirley, Britta, and Annie.

But especially Annie.

As the two of them grow closer, he also grows used to the way she grabs his arm when startled or excited. He grows used to the way she walks next to him, close enough that their fingers keep brushing. He grows used to the way she slips her hand in his every so often, when she thinks he needs reassurance or comfort, or even when she's just feeling particularly affectionate.

He's never had friends who stuck around long enough to develop that level of comfort with him. This kind of normalcy is new to him, and it's nice.

He pretends not to notice the way that his pulse picks up ever-so-slightly each time Annie's hand connects with his.

* * *

The first time he holds her hand, it's not really him. It's Han Solo.

They're alone and bantering and she hurts her fingers, and he couldn't have scripted it more perfectly. He takes her hand in both of his, watching her annoyed expression melt away.

"There's not enough immaturity in your life," he tells her, massaging her palm, and she softens even further. He steps closer and it's clear that he's flustering her, that she's letting herself fall into his game. There is something sparking between the smuggler and the princess, and Abed is suddenly very, very glad that he chose Annie to play his Leia.

The scene is supposed to end with a kiss, but Shirley interrupts them too soon. Annie snatches her hand out of his grasp, and the moment is over.

As he picks up the ammo and follows the girls out of the storeroom, he can't help but wish that they had been able to play out the whole scene. He still wants to know if their lips fit together as well as their hands do.

* * *

The first time he holds her hand as himself, it's because he needs her.

It's about a week after Troy's departure to the Air Conditioning Repair Annexe. He's sitting in his recliner, having a staring contest with the TV. It's been three or four hours, and he's barely moved in all that time. The sound is up loud, but it still feels like the apartment is too quiet. Too empty.

He hears footsteps. Annie slips into the room and perches on the arm of his chair, hands folded in her lap.

"What are you watching?" she asks. Her voice sounds small and anxious. It's the way she talks to him now: careful, worried, like she's afraid he's going to snap at any second. He tries not to worry her, but it's exhausting enough work keeping his own demons at bay.

"_Friends_ marathon," he answers blankly, automatically.

"Oh. Which episode are you up to?"

"_The One Where Joey Moves Out_. Season two."

She doesn't respond, but he senses her shift a little closer to him.

They watch in silence. Everything is fine until the last minute of the episode. Joey leaves with a goodbye hug, and Chandler makes his way through a suddenly sadder, emptier apartment.

Abed reaches out blindly and finds Annie's hand. He doesn't say anything, and neither does she. He just laces his fingers through hers and squeezes once. She squeezes back and doesn't let go, even when he's gotten himself under control again and his grip relaxes.

It's just what he needs. He's not sure why it's Annie who can always make him feel a little better. But he knows that as long as he has the warm comfort of her hand in his, he doesn't feel so alone.

* * *

The hundred-and-forty-seventh time she holds his hand, he figures it out.

It's a Saturday night, and they're in the apartment. "Bye, guys!" Annie calls, exiting her room as Troy and Britta leave for another date. "Have fun!"

The front door closes and Abed begins to pick through the small stack of DVDs on the table.

"What do you want to watch tonight? We could watch _Inspector Spacetime_ season seven again," he says, without looking up. "Or we could have a mini Pixar marathon. I rented all three _Toy Stories_, _The Incredibles _and _Finding Nemo_. And _Tangled_, because I know that's your favourite."

He turns and sees that Annie has sunk onto the couch, looking morose.

"Annie? Are you okay?"

She looks up and tries to smile, but it fades quickly and she sighs. "I'm okay. I'm just..." She trails off and shrugs.

Abed tilts his head and frowns. "What?"

Annie presses her lips together. "I don't know," she says finally. "I'm happy for Britta and Troy, but sometimes I just wish... I wish there was someone for me, too."

He joins her on the couch. "I don't understand," he says. "It sounds like you're sad because you're single. But I thought you and Jeff were a thing now."

"What?" She looks startled.

"Didn't you two kiss last week?"

"Abed!" Annie stares at him, obviously shocked. "How did you find out about that?"

He shrugs. "I could read the signs." Taking in her alarm, he adds, "Don't worry. I'm the only one who knows. And I'm pretty sure Leonard wasn't watching this time."

He decides not to explain that he noticed the change in her behaviour because he'd found himself observing her a lot lately, much more than he watched the other members of the study group. He also doesn't mention that his discovery, though not a surprise, had left him feeling strangely disappointed.

Annie relaxes slightly and stares at her hands. "Okay. Well, we're not together. I mean, we did kiss, and I thought that maybe we could..." She lets the sentence hang unfinished and shakes her head. "But we're not right for each other. We never were."

Abed suppresses the urge to smile at this new information. Annie is upset; smiling would be inappropriate.

With another melodramatic sigh, she slumps back against the couch. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll end up alone."

"You're being over-dramatic," he informs her matter-of-factly. "You're not going to end up alone."

"How do you know?" she asks gloomily.

He gazes at her for a moment, taking her in. "You'll always have plenty of potential romantic interests, because you're the quintessential girl-next-door," he says finally, without emotion. "You're smart. You're fun to be around. You're nice to everyone. And you're beautiful, in an approachable, non-threatening kind of way."

At the word 'beautiful', her eyebrows shoot up, and she gives him a look that he remembers from years ago, when he'd been Don Draper and she'd... enjoyed it.

He likes that look.

"You really think of me like that?" she asks, reaching out and taking his hand.

The touch of her fingers is something that has become routine, ordinary. So he's startled when it feels somehow different - like his skin is extra-sensitive where it's in contact with hers.

"Yes," he answers easily enough, though his heart is beating faster and his mind is working overtime trying to figure out what it all means.

There's no trace of her initial melancholy left on her face. Her smile is wide and bright, and Abed thinks that he would like to be the cause of that smile more often.

"Thanks, Abed," she says softly, gazing up at him with an expression he doesn't understand.

"You're welcome."

They're silent for a moment longer, and in that time, with her fingers pressing gently into his palm, he figures it out. It's the only logical explanation for his recent spike of interest in her and all of his physical reactions to her presence and her touch.

He's in love with Annie.

His eyes widen and his whole body stiffens, but thankfully Annie doesn't notice.

"Let's watch _Tangled_," she announces just as the revelation sinks in, letting go of him and going over to the table to fetch the DVD.

"Cool," Abed responds automatically. He gets up and sits in his recliner while she inserts the disc into the player.

The movie begins, but he can hardly focus on the screen. His mind races with ideas, scenarios, possibilities. How long has he felt this way? Why did the revelation come now? What does this mean for their future interactions? He's torn between a desire to escape to the mini-Dreamatorium and the compulsion to stay close to Annie. He glances over to where she's seated in Troy's recliner, absorbed by the film.

She looks the same as always, in her favourite yellow cardigan and a dress he's seen her wear dozens of times. They're watching a movie alone together like they've done countless evenings before. Nothing has changed, and yet everything feels different.

He clenches and unclenches his hand. He can still feel the ghost of her touch on his skin.

* * *

The second time he holds her hand, it marks something new.

It's New Year's Eve and the whole group is gathered together on the roof of Jeff's apartment building. The music and beer and dancing and inappropriate jokes are abundant, and there is nothing dark about this season, not this time.

Just before midnight, Pierce produces a bottle of champagne and they overfill their glasses with bubbles as they count down along with the clocks on their cell phones, huddled in a tight circle.

"_HAPPY NEW YEAR!_" they shout when the numbers tick over, slopping champagne all over each other's shoes with every clink of their glasses. Then they go and stand near the edge of the building, watching colour crackle across the dark night.

It feels like an ending and a beginning, like the overlap of the last days of winter and the first days of spring. _Fourth act_, Abed thinks, even though it's too soon for that. He knows that there's still a little more darkness to travel through before the end of the school year. But right now, standing with Annie on one side and Troy on the other, he can afford to ignore that.

After a few minutes, Jeff and Pierce grow bored with the fireworks and wander back to the camp chairs and coolers in search of more alcohol. Shirley ducks away to call Andre. Troy and Britta move to the other side of the roof to check out the fireworks sparking low near the horizon.

Abed stays where he is, next to Annie, both of them staring up at the lights exploding and dissolving in the air.

"Isn't it pretty?" Annie murmurs, leaning over to him.

"Yeah," he agrees.

He glances down at her and smiles at her enchanted expression. The fireworks are reflected in her wide eyes. She looks bright and optimistic and delighted by the simple pleasure of watching fireworks with her best friends, and Abed suddenly wishes that he had kissed her at midnight.

He could do it now, if he wants to – all their friends are distracted, and he knows from experience that her lips mould perfectly to his. It would be the perfect romantic comedy set-up.

But this is real life, not a movie. He knows the moment needs to be genuine - not scripted, not a homage to on-screen couples who bear no resemblance to him and Annie.

So he reaches out and folds his hand around hers. Surprised, she turns and gives him a puzzled look. He meets her gaze steadily.

"Abed?" Annie says his name tentatively, and her gaze darts around his face, hesitating on his mouth before returning to his eyes.

He smiles faintly and tugs her a little closer. "I like you, Annie," he tells her quietly, gently squeezing her hand.

They stare at each other, and in the almost-darkness he detects a faint stain of pink on her cheeks. Her eyes are wide and her mouth open slightly in surprise.

And then her expression changes. He's not exactly sure how to read it, but her lips are curved upwards and her eyes are warm. It's the way she used to look at Troy, at Vaughn, at Rich, at Jeff.

She rises up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek. Her lips linger on his skin much longer than any of the other times she's kissed him before. "I like you too, Abed," she says softly.

The sitcom-viewer in him points out that this is the appropriate interval for a kiss, but Abed doesn't want to ruin this moment. It's perfect as it is.

"Cool," he says, returning his gaze to the still-shimmering sky. "Cool, cool, cool."

Moments later, he feels her head lean against his shoulder and her other hand take hold of his arm. His fingers tighten around hers, and he smiles. Palm-to-palm, they silently welcome a new beginning.

* * *

The next time she holds his hand, it feels the same yet different all at once.

They're leaving the apartment, heading downtown for dinner and a movie. Abed locks the door and joins Annie where she stands waiting by the stairs.

She reaches up and adjusts the collar of his shirt, which complements the new dress she bought for the occasion. Satisfied, she lets her hands travel down his chest, just for a second. He raises an eyebrow, shoots her a Harrison Ford smirk, and she giggles and turns away.

As they walk down the stairs, he feels her hand slip into his, easy and natural, like it's something she's been doing for years (and in a way, it is).

He glances at her and she beams at him, gripping his hand just a little tighter. The smile he returns is just as big, just as bright. They walk on together, hands clasped, perfectly in step despite their difference in height.

This thing between them has never needed words or grand gestures to be felt. It's always been unspoken, existing only in long looks, small smiles, gentle touches. Their entwined fingers speak volumes.

_Fin_


End file.
